


The Heart, the Brain and the Body. Three, the magic number.

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Merlin conjures flowers and everyone is basically horny.</p><p>Disclaimer: Merlin isn't mine, sadly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart, the Brain and the Body. Three, the magic number.

The first three bouquets turn out all right. They just wilt a little too quickly, heads drooping before the day is truly over. Merlin wants them to last a little longer when he presents his mother with flowers next month. They are rare, in Ealdor, and very expensive, but she loves them so he knows she will be delighted.

The fourth bouquet is gorgeous. The flowers are large and orange, a little like a cross between a daylily and a rose. The petals are silky and glistening, the stamens long and heavy with pink pollen. Merlin is pleased, when by the end of the day they haven’t withered and look as fresh as they did that morning. On a whim, he decides to put them in Arthur’s chambers. He will tell him that they are from a secret admirer and then laugh himself silly at the prince’s painful attempts to pretend he doesn’t care. He should be back from his training by now, probably enjoying the bath Merlin prepared for him with a little enchantment to keep it warm. Something stirs, the way it always does when he allows himself to think of his master running his own hands over his body, fingers digging into stiff muscles, hair damp and clinging to his forehead. His step is maybe slightly more hasty than usual, when he makes his way to the royal chambers, flowers clutched to his chest.

Merlin knows to be prepared when entering Arthur’s quarters. He knows to be prepared for flying objects of all shapes and sizes. He knows to steel himself for possible rants and outbursts, knows to stop his eyes from rolling during sulky pouts. Sometimes he has to prevent himself from staring during one of Arthur’s brooding silences, one foot on the window sill, profile lit by the setting sun. And sometimes, sometimes he prepares to be treated to a soft smile, like Arthur is actually pleased to see him. Usually, it is quickly hidden by an array of tasks to be performed _immediately Merlin_. Lately, there is another sort of look, something Merlin never is quite prepared for, something he can’t define but would like to know more of none the less.

He isn’t prepared for Arthur lying back in the bath, neck long and curved, and Gwaine leaning over him, arms braced on the edges of the tub. He kneels between Arthur’s knees and kisses him so uninhibitedly, Merlin can see their tongues slide together. They haven’t heard him. He can still make his escape. But the noises Arthur makes, seem to keep him frozen in place. Like the sound of it curls around his ankles and knees, keeps them locked while the air turns solid in his lungs. Then, Gwaine lifts his face from Arthur’s and dips his head to lick along the tendon of the neck Arthur so willingly exposes. It is then that Gwaine sees him and straightens with a slow smile.

‘Merlin,’ he says, not a question but a word embedded with amusement and raw feeling. Merlin emits a high pitched noise in response and Arthur straightens, spilling water all over the floor. His lips are parted and his eyes are wild, wide.

‘Flowers,’ Merlin squeaks, his feet still very unwilling to move. Arthur and Gwaine exchange a look where relish meets caution. Gwaine pushes himself further up and steps out of the bath in one fluid motion, dripping water everywhere. There is an odd noise again, and Merlin has the strange notion it comes from somewhere around his throat. Arthur’s hand closes around Gwaine’s wrist.

‘Only if he wants to,’ he says and Gwaine smiles.

‘Oh, he wants to.’

Merlin doesn’t know what they mean, until Gwaine dips his gaze. His brain seems to be caught in a maelstrom of thick porridge because it takes him an unearthly long time to figure out what Gwaine is looking at. Instead, he is being distracted by the sharp outlines of Gwaine’s body, and how they all converge onto one… thing. When he follows Gwaine’s gaze and realizes where the line goes, he flushes deeply. His own erection, though out of sight, is ardent enough to rival Gwaine’s.

‘So the flowers,’ Merlin says, wondering when the eleven year old boy returned to his voice. ‘I’ll just leave them on the table?’

Gwaine strides forward and it takes all of Merlin’s resolve not to look at the roll of the muscles beneath the skin of his thighs. ‘I’ll take these,’ he says and lifts the bouquet out of Merlin’s hands and onto a chair.

‘Then I’ll just, you know-‘ Merlin flaps a hand about a little helplessly and clears his throat. ‘Leave you to it.’

‘Wouldn’t you rather stay?’ Gwaine asks him, eyes traveling south again, before lifting with a delight that should clearly be illegal under circumstances like these.

‘I can’t,’ Merlin says and his eyes travel to Arthur. He is stretched out languidly in the tub, arms bracketing the sides, neck stretched out so his head tilts back over the edge. The sun tumbles in through the window and reflects the ripples of the water on his skin. ‘Can I?’ Merlin asks weakly and when Gwaine turns, Arthur seems to understand the question is really directed at him. He tilts his head to the left without lifting it and looks at Merlin. His smile is relaxed, lazy almost, but there is something in his eyes that belies his entire attitude. As if he wants- but can’t admit. Merlin feels the arousal twitch in his breeches.

‘I would like it,’ Arthur says, voice so low Merlin has to strain to hear it, ‘if you stayed.’

‘Well then,’ Gwaine says with a lovely smile. ‘That is settled.’ He puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and steers him toward Arthur, who watches him without blinking until Merlin is looming over him, at the head of the bath. Merlin almost doesn’t notice when Gwaine tugs his jacket off his arms, unties the knot of his scarf. All he has eyes for, is the way Arthur is looking up at him. He has never seen him like this. So open, so still. Arthur’s eyes never leave Merlin’s and he doesn’t quite know what to do.

‘Would you like to kiss him, Merlin?’ Gwaine asks from behind him and he can hear clear amusement in the words but all Merlin can do is nod. Arthur’s pupils widen a little. Gwaine breathes out a small laugh. ‘Can Merlin kiss you, Arthur?’ he asks, and Merlin jolts when Gwaine’s hand trails under his shirt and comes to rest in the small of his back.

‘Yes,’ Arthur says simply and Merlin bends down.

It is odd, to kiss someone upside down. But Arthur’s mouth opens before Merlin’s lips are even fully on it and he gasps when he feels Arthur’s tongue flicker across his bottom lip. He dips his own tongue against Arthur’s and marvels at the feel of it, slightly rough as they fit on top of each other. He sucks on Arthur’s bottom lip and can’t help his hands coming up, folding over Arthur’s shoulders and carefully slipping down, when Arthur hums against his mouth.

Merlin jerks again, when Gwaine’s hand moves. He had almost forgotten he is there. In the exploration of Arthur’s mouth and the chase of the droplets of water on his chest, Merlin’s eyes had fallen closed. They open now, when Gwaine’s hands keep moving, pulling up his shirt and he straightens so Gwaine can pull it over his head.

‘Nice,’ the man behind him murmurs to the sigh of the fabric dropping to the floor. Merlin shivers when Gwaine’s hands brush over his shoulder blades and down the curl of his back. ‘Very nice,’ he breathes in Merlin’s ear, licking at the lobe. Merlin doesn’t really understand the look Gwaine gives Arthur, but when Arthur nods once, and Gwaine gently turns Merlin to face him, he knows he just received permission.

It is very different to kiss Gwaine. He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t take time to explore, to find out how Merlin tastes and how his lips fold and give around pressure. He cups his hands to Merlin’s cheeks and takes what he wants with a deep tongue and no warning. Merlin sways and Gwaine steps in, his body still slightly damp and a little cool from the bathwater. He sucks sharply on Merlin’s tongue and he feels it pull all the way down to his bellybutton. He has to reach out and steady himself against Gwaine’s chest, who only takes this as an invitation and pulls their bodies flush together.

There is a great rush of water beside them and then Merlin is suddenly wet from behind when Arthur presses up against him. Gwaine releases his hold on Merlin’s mouth and reaches out a hand to pull Arthur into a kiss, with Merlin pressed between them. He can feel Arthur’s moan vibrate against his back and can’t suppress one of his own, when Arthur slips a hand around his waist and pulls him closer. His want is pressing against the curve of his spine. A moment later, Gwaine’s hand follows, slipping around his back and Merlin feels like he could break in two, seared by the heat of their touch, and he wouldn’t care. His head drops to Arthur’s shoulder and their kiss is interrupted so Gwaine can mouth at his neck and Arthur can strip the hair from Merlin’s forehead.

‘Merlin,’ he whispers against his temple. ‘You look -‘

Merlin never finds out what he looks like, because Gwaine’s hands have moved down his chest and have pulled down Merlin’s trousers so that Arthur’s sentence ends in a growl.

‘Bed?’ Gwaine suggests, with a grin.

‘Bed,’ Arthur tells him, practically lifting Merlin off the floor and out of his boots.

It is a bit of a struggle at first and Merlin feels completely out of his senses as Gwaine and Arthur seem to fight for his possession. He is pushed against the headboard, propped up on several cushions. There are teeth and mouths and tongues in places he never dared to dream of, but will never, ever forget. He likes how Gwaine’s tongue darts over his collarbones, but he loves how Arthur’s fingers dig possessively into his wrist. He likes how Gwaine laughs at everything, softly at the tickle of a breath and loudly at the bumping of foreheads. But he loves how Arthur is quiet and intent, how he is serious in his wanders over Merlin’s body, as if he wants to learn every inch of him and commit it to memory.

When Gwaine pulls a bottle of oil out of nowhere and poises a slicked finger at Merlin’s entrance, Arthur closes a hand around Gwaine’s wrist again and pulls rank. ‘No,’ he says, quietly. ‘He is mine.’

‘Fine,’ Gwaine says, completely unperturbed by Arthur’s command. ‘But then I am fucking you.’ And with a pull and a shove that confirms Merlin’s secret conviction that Gwaine could actually take Arthur in a fight, Arthur is on his back, cradled in Merlin’s lap. The press of Arthur’s hip against his dick is delicious and the world seems to spin and turn for a moment, until the soft moan from Arthur’s mouth has Merlin’s eyes flying open again. Because he is not missing this, not a moment of it. Gwaine presses one finger into Arthur’s hole, whose head drops limply to Merlin’s shoulder. His eyelids are heavy, his gaze dark but unwavering on Merlin. A small smile curls around his lips, and he can’t help but smile back.

‘All right?’ Arthur asks softly, before sucking in a hissing breath when Gwaine pushes in another finger.

‘All right,’ Merlin tells him, reaches out, and strokes the wet hair from Arthur’s face before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Part of him thinks this is crazy, part of him thinks he must have sniffed some hallucinogen, maybe from his conjured flowers and he really is imagining all this. He’ll probably be executed tomorrow for propositioning the prince in the middle of the great hall. But part of him doesn’t think at all. That part presses a kiss to Arthur’s temple, who is making finger-licking noises as Gwaine gently fucks him open. Merlin reaches out his free hand, and cups it beneath Arthur’s knee, holding it, spreading him wider. He is heady with arousal, has time to think this will be worth the chopping block tomorrow before Gwaine pushes his dick into Arthur with a long hiss and then reaches over to shove his tongue in Merlin’s mouth.

Gwaine’s movements are tight and controlled, so he can keep kissing Merlin. He keeps his cock deep into Arthur, only pulling out far enough to create friction, causing Arthur to press down on Merlin, making him delirious with need. Arthur gasps and groans between them, his hips trying to buck, to move, to do anything to increase the pressure, but he is effectively trapped between the two of them. Merlin lets go of his knee to wrap his hand around Arthur’s stiff cock. The noise Arthur makes is excruciating, goes through Merlin like a shock of almost pain. He strokes slowly up and down, until his hand is wet with pre-come and he shivers when Arthur presses his face into the hollow of Merlin’s neck. He wants to move, wants to rock his hips up and against Arthur, but the weight of the two men is too much. When he flicks his thumb over the head, slipping it underneath the hood to rim around the silky skin, Arthur moans his name and Merlin almost bites down on Gwaine’s tongue.

‘Shit,’ Gwaine says, pulling away from Merlin’s mouth. ‘So hot.’

Arthur immediately takes advantage and reaches up for Merlin’s bruised lips, who marvels again at how different, how soft, in this quite frankly bizarre situation, Arthur’s kiss feels. But Gwaine picks up his pace, pulls nearly all the way out of Arthur and slams back in to the hilt, causing the two of them to break the kiss.

‘Bastard,’ Arthur pants at Gwaine, but it is soon forgotten, because Gwaine seems to hit the right spot, and rubs against it mercilessly so Arthur’s back arches and his head presses into Merlin’s shoulder with a strangled _gnnn_. Merlin tightens his fist around Arthur’s dick and he can see his balls contract so he picks up the pace too, matching it with every single one of Gwaine’s thrusts. Arthur writhes and squirms, hands scrambling for a hold and the sight of him is _amazing_. Gwaine works above the both of them, arms tight and veined with the strain of his weight, sweat or water or both, dripping down from his hair and face. But when he comes, when they both come, Gwaine following rapidly because of the merciless tightening of Arthur’s pulsing hole, it isn’t Gwaine Merlin is watching. It is Arthur and his open mouth, his closed eyes and his stretched out neck. He strokes him through his orgasm, murmuring words he won’t be able to remember afterwards in Arthur’s ear. Gwaine collapses, stealing his view and Arthur waits a few moments, catching his breath and finding his senses.

‘Good?’ Arthur asks Gwaine then, softly pushing him away so he can look at him.

‘Yeah,’ Gwaine whispers. ‘Good.’ He grins, but it is without its usual wickedness, as if he too, is a little overwhelmed. He presses a chaste kiss to Arthur’s mouth, once, twice, and then pulls away, reaching for Merlin.

‘I don’t think so,’ Arthur says, grinning. He shifts on his side and pulls Merlin down from the headboard. Arthur fits his arm underneath Merlin’s neck and leans up on his elbow.

‘Now,’ Arthur says, his voice still raw from the cries he strangled, and suddenly all Merlin wants is to be the one who can draw them out, be the one to break through Arthur’s resolve to hold back. ‘My turn to kiss you.’

And he does, cupping Merlin’s face with one hand, tongue and lips finding every sensitive corner of his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck and his mouth. They are locked in a tight embrace, Merlin’s hands in Arthur’s hair, lips firmly slotted together when Merlin feels Gwaine’s mouth close around his dick suddenly. It catches him by surprise and his gasp sucks all the air out of Arthur’s lungs. Arthur breaks the kiss momentarily and looks down at Gwaine, before staring at Merlin again, intently.

‘Oh yes,’ he whispers, and he smiles when Merlin’s eyes roll back in his head as Gwaine sucks him down completely. Merlin doesn’t know whose moans join his to fill the room, only knows he can’t stop, can’t ever stop as the heat curls into his stomach and spreads down his spine. He reaches up for Arthur and pulls him down into another open mouthed kiss. Arthur goes willingly and his mouth is such a soft, caressing contrast to Gwaine’s, it makes Merlin  _ache_. It doesn’t take long, after all he’s seen, all he’s done, it doesn’t take long at all, before his breathing turns frantic and erratic, before his kisses turn to nips and bites and Arthur pulls away.

‘Yes Merlin,’ he whispers, looked ravished and positively sinful, his hand wandering from Merlin’s neck to his chest, to pinch at his nipples and then soothe the sting. ‘Come for me, look at me while you come.’ Merlin forces his eyes open, as his breath comes ragged and raw, burning his chest on the way out as Gwaine sucks and fists at his cock. His toes curl and his hands wrestle for the sheets, for anything to hold onto until Arthur grabs them and tangles their fingers together. ‘Now, Merlin, _now_ ,’ he says hoarsely, looking like the sight of Merlin coming to pieces is enough to send him over the edge too, and that does it. With a cry and convulsions that are never enough to break eye contact with Arthur, he spills himself into Gwaine’s mouth, who draws him through the jerks of his orgasm and swallows everything he has to offer.

Arthur leans over, pressing his head into Merlin’s neck, placing soft butterfly-like kisses on his oversensitive skin. The weight of him against Merlin’s chest, is exactly what he needs and he brings up his arms and holds Arthur closer. Gwaine crawls up to the head of the bed, kisses Merlin once over Arthur’s shoulder so he taste himself and then winks at him.

‘Wait,’ Arthur whispers in Merlin’s ear, when they all lie side by side and Merlin is about to sink into a dreamless sleep. Arthur draws a pattern on Merlin’s stomach that he is too lazy to try and decipher. ‘Don’t fall asleep yet.’ When Merlin turns his head in question, Arthur’s lips press against his again, to the beginning noise of Gwaine’s soft snores.

Arthur’s breath is hot against Merlin’s wet lips when he pulls away from the kiss. Out of all of it, all of what just happened, _this_ is what Merlin finds the hardest to believe. Arthur’s mouth on his mouth, Arthur’s tongue against his tongue, Arthur’s hand in his hair. ‘Next time,’ Arthur whispers, pressing a kiss first to one eye, then the other, closing them. ‘It will just be you and me.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here at LJ.](http://rufflefeather.livejournal.com/9351.html)


End file.
